


not even foxglove

by asunaro



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Consensual Sex, Delusions, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Porn With Plot, Post Great War, eventually. some day, it will happen i promise, like. after their dads die i guess, naruto kicked the shit out of god and now we're sad lets have sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-02-28 09:39:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18753811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asunaro/pseuds/asunaro
Summary: it's how we grow apart and twist back together.inoshika. hurt/comfort/porn with a plot. half inspired by 'as it was' by hozier





	1. the otherness came

Ino's flower shop reads 'CLOSED' on the front in stark, red kanji, but he knows better. 

She usually doesn't close early; sometimes her mother would call her for tea, but it was a warm day; her mother would be out on a walk through the graveyard, trailing her fingers through the tall grass and talking with ghosts. She'd almost always bring Ino a flower back, if Ino didn't go with her, one that Ino'd throw into the trash after she left.

He peers through the half-tinted store front, knocking on the glass once, loudly.

A blonde head shoots up from behind the counter, accompanied by two pale hands pressed flat against the wooden surface. Her tell-tale pony tail bobs as she gestures him to come in, and it doesn't take a genius to tell that she's been crying.

Shikamaru gently turns the handle, pushing the door open. It's kind of silly, to expect a 'CLOSED' sign to deter some customers, especially considering some of the civilian women in the town and how desperately they believe they need their flowers, but there was a certain quiet distance everyone had been giving her recently.

Everyone gave them both distance, now.

HQ was a pile of rubble, still. All the corpses had been cleaned up--those that were left, at least, after complete and utter vaporization--and so now it was the remaining stone and dust and sparsely scattered shrines that were left out of respect for the dead. They had buried the bits they could find, and started slowly chipping together a new HQ, but the halls were so, so empty, so devoid of the usual numbers it used to hold. 

Tactically speaking, it was a genius move. Taking out Konoha's HQ had left them open, and hopeless. Fortunately, it hadn't paid off for the enemy, but they sure managed to take a chunk out of him.

The distance was familiar. It was that same respectful pity they had all gotten when Asuma-sensei had died. In theory, it was kindness; in practice, especially for the second time, it felt stilted. Wrong. Maybe because he was older, or because he had gone through it already, or even because this time it was his flesh-and-blood father, but he absolutely detested those sappy eyes and firm head nods and claps on the shoulder. The well-wishing was even worse. They didn't have to tell him that his father was a tactical genius, or that he had saved the war--he knew that. Ino knew her father did, too. 

And there were too many goddamn bouquets covering the house. His mother had taken to throwing them out in bulk under the cover of the night, but it didn't get that cloying smell out of his nose. 

Kindness meant something, coming from his friends and their families, but from civilians who didn't know a fucking thing about Shikaku Nara other than his name and job title...it didn't feel sincere. They felt obligated to thank him for his father's service because he did his job. He'd rather they just left him alone. They didn't have to thank him at all.

That was it. It was just a job. His father had died a hero to everyone else, but he just died on the clock.

Shikamaru steps inside the shop and looks around. Nothing had changed, in the week he had been gone on mission--Ino ideally would have done the restock-slash-rearranging of merchandise, but given her current state, he doubted she'd get to it any time soon. It's no skin off his own back, regardless. It's practically her shop after everything that had happened. She can do whatever the hell she likes with it. Even let all the plants wither and die away--in fact, for some of them, it seems that's their oncoming fate, as they strain in their pots vainly for a hint of sunshine or a splash of water.

Or whatever.

He jumps the counter with ease, and plants himself on the floor next to her.

"You know I hate when you do that," Ino sniffles, wiping the back of her hand across the face, a smudge of concealer streaking in it's path. 

Maybe 'crying' hadn't been the right word for it. Ino has been weeping. Her normally tanned skin is a ghostly white, with big blotches of pink and red dappling her cheeks, and the unavoidable puffiness under her eyes a stark contrast to the purple bags just below. She's clad in a gray sweater, with a mid-thigh black skirt, her knees clutched to her chest. She sniffles again, reaching for a box of tissues between them. "You'll get mud on the counter, and I'll have to clean it later." Her voice warbles, wet in the back of her throat and catching on every other syllable.

"Gives you something to do on a slow day, then," Shikamaru quips, earning a half-hearted arm slap and a wet chuckle. His eyes cast downwards, towards the space in between them. Along with the box, there's a rather large pile of used tissues; a small testament to despair.

He sighs and pulled out a cigarette. Sure, he liked to complain a hell of a lot about her, but Ino was really something else. He admired her fiercely, for her strength-of-being, but also for her boundless kindness. She hadn't always been kind, though. Every streak of her screamed mean and stark, all the way down to her bones; mean to him, to Chouji, to her mother and her so-called 'best friend'...but mostly to herself.

It had taken them a long time to get this close. But grief pulled them together and bound them tightly, tighter than he was able to say he was comfortable with. That thought shot a strange pang through his stomach, one that he elected to ignore for the time being. He gently toes the trash-mountain forwards, and holds up his arm. She slides over to him, tucking herself into his half-embrace, curling into him and crossing her long legs over his own. "What time did you close today?" he inquires.

She picks up a fresh tissue, dabbing at her nose. "Um, what time is it?"

"Around three."

Ino thinks for a minute, tugging at the strand of hair half-obscuring her eye. "Since one."

Shikamaru exhales, letting his cheeks puff out in disbelief. "If you don't want to work, you should have your mother run the shop."

"You and I both know that she wouldn't," Ino snaps, a sudden but familiar venom piercing through her tone, "since she's too busy wandering the graveyard every fucking day." The tissue falls victim to her spat of anger, crumpling in her steely grip.

"You're not doing much better, here," he chides, firm but gentle. He pulls her in a little closer--half to console, and half because he knows that if he doesn't she'd try and smack him again. With his free hand, he lights the cigarette and takes a long drag.

They all had different ways of dealing with their grief. Chouji was the most open with his, unafraid to cry in front of others and speak his mind. He dealt with it in the healthiest way, probably. At least that was what he had been told. Himself and Ino were more 'runners' than 'confronters' when it came to sadness, but Ino's facade always broke too quickly and she'd crumble into herself, hiding away from the world. Curling into a ball under the counter was her most recent way of completing this pseudo ritual. He'd never let her know how much this bothered him. Ino was strong; he wanted her strong, that unflinching kunoichi, with a glittering smile and steely eyes, unafraid to speak her mind or to lunge with perfect precision, mesmerizing in the right lights--

A sort of sick realization builds it's way into his chest.

"Did--did you come here right after your mission?" Ino's new careful tone breaks him from his thought process. She's so good at picking up on minute facial expressions and body twinges, recognizing the mood and changing it to how she saw fit. His own has to be palpable, despite all his set up walls and precautions. 

Shikamaru looks down at himself. He's still in uniform, red sand caking his sandals and the cuffs of his pants. To be honest, he probably doesn't smell the best, but she at least has the decency to accept his company without roasting him into oblivion. Ino reaches up and prods under his eye with one slender finger, letting the now balled-up tissue fall from her hands and join the others on the floor. "You haven't been sleeping," she states.

"Yeah," he answers, "Sunagakure." He ignores her sleeping quip. "Lady Tsunade wanted me to bring a letter to the Kazekage."

"Gaara-san."

He exhales slightly in confirmation.

They're both silent, for a moment. He hates how quietly she asks. She knows something's going on in his head; can probably taste that sick, foreign thought process growing within him. It's such a fucking pain. But his father's dead. His sensei's dead. He doesn't have a lot left in this world, since everyone he trusts is dropping like flies. Whatever strange thoughts he's having about her will pass, probably--its some formless attachment he's clinging to. It wouldn't be the first crush he's developed on her. It feels like all the good, smart, kind men are dying and he's all that's left, and the thought of that scares him into clutching her a little bit closer.

Some great goddamn sacrifice, dad, he thinks bitterly. The world almost ending, and a so-called god getting their shit kicked out of them by Naruto, and now they're both here, in a tiny insignificant flower shop in a tiny insignificant corner of Konoha, crying for the people that put them there.

"How is he?"

"He's fine. I didn't see him much. He only had questions about Naruto," he responds, and Ino snorts at the unsaid implication.

Shikamaru took the mission to leave his house in the first place, chomping at the bit for lower-ranked missions that would take him somewhere, anywhere far enough from the empty spaces and shoes his father left behind. The spark in his mother was extinguished--she was put together, for him, but he knew she was just as broken as he. At least Lady Tsunade could see that pity wasn't really his forte; the Slug Queen had been yelling at him her usual amount, having him pick up the slack the dead left in their wake.

That was a small, strange blessing, too. Less people to do literal tons of paperwork. It's been busy.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling and watching the tendrils of smoke coil upwards, the sunlight filtering through them and casting wispy shadows on the opposite wall. 

"Can I have one?" Ino asks, and he snorts.

"Get it yourself. Top right pocket. Closest to you."

She reaches for him again, long fingers reaching into the padded jacket pocket and fishing around for the little package he always keeps on him. Despite the thickness of the jacket he can feel where she touched his chest and that pang hits again, all sweet in the wrong ways and making him uncomfortably aware of how close she is again. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and listening to her flick his lighter a few times, and the telltale intake of breath afterwards.

She only started smoking after Asuma-sensei died. And she only smoked with him, or with Chouji, but she's always kept a spare pack taped above her closet door in cases of extreme stress. It's always been so funny to him; this woman, who he's seen soaked head to toe with blood, who's ripped out the throats of lesser nin who dared try to stop her, who's methodically pulled apart a victim's mind, pulling out the needed information and leaving them numb, is still afraid of smoking in front of her mother and father.

He wonders if she's still afraid, now that the patriarch of the Yamanaka clan wears dirt.

"Did you see Temari?" The plume of smoke exits Ino's mouth as she speaks, curling upwards and joining his own, dissipating in the afternoon haze. "She was probably trying to see you, huh?" Her voice finally loses that caution and she elbows him in the ribs a bit too forcefully.

It's timed at the same moment he had taken another puff of cigarette and it all comes out in one imploding plume almost comically. "Ow," he says, all muffled and no inflection.

"Did you fuck her? You were there for what, a week? I hope you used protection!" Ino waves her cigarette in his face, and it almost feels like the Great War is a fever dream and they're young teenagers again. 

Temari. The woman was trouble on two legs. She's a looker, for sure, but they both have the same defense mechanisms ingrained into them, so communicating with her was one of the hardest things he found he had to do. They went out on one date, before the war, and the stilted conversation about nothing was almost entirely driven by him. Apparently she had had a great time; his most recent visit found him hounded by Kankuro about when he would take her out next. The mission had felt like an elaborate date setup rather than an 'urgent' message delivery, so much so that he had found himself wondering if Tsunade was in on it.

"I saw her, a little bit," Shikamaru says, ignoring Ino's too-forced 'ooh!' of excitement and pulling the cigarette out of her hand. "She, Kankuro, and I went out to dinner a couple of times."

And Kankuro hadn't spared any expense leaving as soon as he could find an opening to, stating he had 'business' to attend to or that Gaara needed his 'help' with something, and he'd be alone with Temari again. And he had tried, so desperately that she had asked several times if something was wrong with him, to make something click. But nothing would. He lied and chalked it up to his father's death and she hugged him for a bit too long and told him to write and visit whenever he had a chance, but he knew he wouldn't. She wasn't it. Not for him, at least. 

"We went on a couple of walks." He puts Ino's cigarette out on the floor, watching the embers slowly burn out, and lets his own burn down to a stub. "Nothing else happened. Kankuro keeps asking about you, he adds, half-hoping this will bring the attention off him, because just thinking about Temari is making him think about Ino again, and how her legs are crossed over his, and how the last of the cigarette smoke curls out of her mouth, and now he's looking at her mouth, and thinking about how it would look--

"Ugh. That dude." She sneers slightly, oblivious to Shikamaru's momentary slip, and tilts her head back, staring up at the ceiling. "He's...nice, but he's, like, kind of weird. I mean...puppets?!" The last word is said with so much disdain that it shocks a chuckle out of him. That sick hollow feeling is quelled, momentarily. Vindication. She takes advantage of him then and yanks his cigarette out of his hands, finishing it off with one final inhale and putting it out next to hers. 

"Hey--that reminds me. Come to dinner tonight." She turns her head to face him fully for the first time.

That definitely didn't remind her of dinner. He can tell she's been rolling it around on her tongue and in the back of her mind since the moment he knocked on her door. And it's not phrased like a request; he sees that familiar daring look in her eyes. Fuck! She's so hard to turn down, not just because of her gaze, but because of how much trouble it is to deal with her harping on him afterwards. There's gotta be a compromise, here.

"Uh," he says, and her eyes narrow. At least this is Ino, full and scary, ready to throw down lest she doesn't get her way. He reaches up and rubs the back of his head sheepishly. "Um. I haven't seen Mom yet. It's just like you said--I just got back."

"And you decided to visit little old me." She smirks, and her face has almost entirely lost it's redness. She's not her usual self, but she's close. It warms him, to think that he helped. "C'mon, Shikamaru, don't leave me alone with her!" Distaste curdles her expression again, and if looks could kill he'd be wearing dirt alongside his father. That thought twinges wrong, but he swallows back the lump that threatens to form. "The service is tomorrow, and I don't wanna be alone tonight--! All she's gonna do is drink, and cry, and tell me I look like Dad." Her voice breaks in the same way he just did, on the last word.

The service. Right. Great.

They had already buried the parts of the shinobi they could find, but some were still missing, and in all the rush to recreate what had been lost they still hadn't had a funeral. Well--Konoha had had theirs. The Ino-Shika-Cho alliance hadn't had their own. It was just for extended family and friends to say goodbyes, to herald in the new leaders of the respective detroyed clans. It's some more sanctimonious bullshit, but at least he'll get to see Chouji, and Naruto, and her.

"Fine, fine." Shikamaru holds up his hands, unwinding his arm from around hers and standing up, her legs sliding off of him and back onto the floor. He's left a little pile of red dust where his feet had rested, and upon further inspection, he had indeed left some on the counter.

"I won't come to dinner. But," he quickly barters, noticing her gaze turn poisonous, "you'll come to my house with me, right now, for dinner. And we'll invite Chouji. We'll need him around to make things less..."

He falls silent, thinking for a moment. Less stilted? Less awful? Less sad? The break in her voice when she said 'Dad' pops back up into his mind. This stupid shit with missing people; couldn't everyone just stick around a little longer and not get murdered in awful, heartbreaking ways? He'd done it for every consecutive year of his life--why hadn't his father just run? Fuck the war, and fuck dying a bit too soon, and fuck everything everyone always told them about shinobi and short lives. They should have flown the coop the second they realized they would be obliterated.

_Sure,_ a small voice speaks in his head, outrun that blast radius. _You saw the aftermath. And even if they had, they would have abandoned you all._

"Less awkward," Shikamaru breathes, and settles on shoving his hands deep into his pockets so Ino doesn't see them shaking. Without waiting for an answer, he vaults the counter once more. Yoshino wouldn't mind a surplus of kids in her house. Things had gotten too quiet, with his constant departures and his father's permanent one. Might as well liven things up a little bit. "Come over at five. Bring Chouji."

There's a sudden snapping of tension in the room, and Ino jumps to her feet, gritting her teeth. "Shikamaru Nara, what the _fuck_ did I say earlier about vaulting the counter! You don't know how to fucking listen at all, ever!" Her voice reaches a fever pitch and she starts gesturing wildly. Whoops.

He stands there for a moment, smirking, until she starts reaching for an empty flower pot and he realizes he's overstayed his welcome. Time to leave! He darts out of the shop, the tinkling bell of the door a jarring juxtaposition to her screeching obscenities behind him and very colorful ideas about where he can shove his lighter. Anger's always a lot easier than a thick, cold sadness, and Ino wears anger better anyways.

The door tinkles again, and he starts walking quicker, in fear of a flower pot, but all he hears is, "And take a shower, you freak! You smell _awful!!!_ "

He doesn't notice until he's about halfway home, but he's got this stupid grin plastered to his face.


	2. the fight of my baby

The suit fits him in a sick way it shouldn't.

He adjusts the collar, flipping the starched black collar so it's the right way out, and looks at himself in the mirror. It doesn't feel all that long since he's worn it, and that bring up a well of a strangely misplaced anger that knots itself firmly in the pit of his stomach. 

Dinner had been careful, to say the least. Ino and Chouji made the house a little warmer, but their jokes and smiles fell oddly flat, and there were too many uncomfortable silences. It felt all wrong, to be sitting at a table with an obvious space missing, choking down grief and half-hearted comments about the food. A chair all too empty; a voice all too missing. His mother had made dinner, to his surprise, even though he hadn't expected her to make dinner at all. They had left some time after 10, and Yoshino had gone to bed straight after, and he himself sat by the shogi set that was sprinkled with a fine layer of dust, and held his head in his hands until morning.

The normalcy was gone. Not only because death had taken it, but because whatever feelings he couldn't suppress were bubbling up and over, threatening to spill into an already strained situation.

This feeling-- _it's just a crush, whatever,_ \--was growing more and more every day, threatening to fill his empty grief with something that was just a little too warm.

He couldn't tell Chouji. That was an absolute. Chouji was kind, and caring, and loyal, but as loyal as he was to Shikamaru and Ino as individuals he was tenfold to his clan. He'd tell Chouza, either by accident or out of a genuine concern, and Chouza would gently sit him down one day and explain to him, like he had so many years ago when he had buried his heart in the wrong grave, that the Ino-Shika-Cho alliance was dead-set on each of them having a child. Not them having a child **together**. It was a doomed relationship. The alliance wouldn't be the same, et cetera, et cetera. And back then he had nodded, the weight of a clan heavy on young shoulders, and swallowed every threat of romance until he had almost entirely forgotten about it before it had burst out of him once again, and at the _worst_ possible time, as well.

But it was such a fragile alliance in the first place. Sure, he can hold hands with his teammates and his forefathers, and their forefathers, and so on, but who's to say what the future holds? Their children, or their grandchildren, or their great-grandchildren could throw caution to the wind and break what is currently only being held together by one-third of the whole thing, and then what? It would effectively cripple or end their word-of-mouth conglomerate altogether. 

 _But maybe it's not real after all_ , the voice in his head chides. _Maybe it's just projection of something you don't fully understand onto someone you think is feeling the same. Maybe everything will be fine, and once you start to move on you'll find someone else._

"Maybe," he agrees to no one out loud, and pointedly ignores how hoarse he sounds. The sound sends a throb through his skull. Now he's talking to himself, and into a migraine, no less. That's a really good start to a funeral day.

And it seems like a huge leap, to move on to someone else, when there's _no one else_. He's tried to insert someone into the her-shaped hole in his heart, but Ino is just so...distinct. There's no one else like her. Sure, others can be similar--and here he thinks of Temari, and only guilt creeps up his spine, as if he's wronged her in some way by not returning her barely-concealed feelings--but no one is her. But sure, maybe that can change. Maybe. She's so troublesome, though--everything he had told himself he wouldn't want one day. It'd be so easy to find that easy girl who's easy-going and doesn't nag him constantly, but she wouldn't have that same spark that drew him to Ino in the first place. 

Or maybe she would. Who knows what the future holds?

Smoothing the fabric down on his chest, he gives himself another once over before crossing his room and opening the door.

And comes immediately face-to-face with his mother. Her fist is half-raised and her mouth is almost a comical 'o' of surprise. They both start backwards, hands coming up a little bit as if to either protect themselves or catch the other; strangely perfect mirrors. They are silent, for a beat, each staring at the other, before she breaks the silence with a half-hearted chuckle and he can practically hear the late night sob session in her voice. It's like a watery lump that nags the back of her throat, muffling even her chuckle. That knot within him tightens. His mother shouldn't be like this.

"Shikamaru," Yoshino sighs, opening her arms wide. He accepts the hug, holding onto her a little too tightly. If she minds, she doesn't say anything. "I'm glad you came back for this."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he mutters into the air behind her. He's tall, he thinks, almost a head taller than his mother. Which is saying something, considering how tall Yoshino was herself. She looks haggard, like she barely slept last night, but he wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. He looked terrible himself. And he didn't sleep until the crack of dawn, stumbling to the bed and passing out face-down, sleep a dreamless mercy. "Are you...okay?" His voice is quiet, careful, and if things were normal she'd go off on him for treating him like she's something fragile.

They had never collectively been good at communication. His father would sometimes sit him down and explain things to him, tell him why he should or should not have said this or done that, but the three of them were private people. It was just the way things had always been. He couldn't even remember off the top of his head the last time he had really asked his mother about her day before everything went to shit. Before his father...well. Before any of this. 

She seems surprised, almost, her dark eyes widening slightly before she smiles. Yoshino isn't used to it either and that's kind of weird to think about. There are wide purple hollows under her eyes, and she reaches up and rubs one of them with the heel of her palm. "Well. About as good as you, I'm afraid." There's a catch on the word 'good', like a break in her voice, but it hits him in a way that scares him a little and he pulls his mother into a hug again before she can say anything else. His intuition was good, too, because he hears his mother sniffle and her shoulders shake just a little, in that telltale pre-tears kind of way.

She holds him back, tightly this time. He waits out her tears, staring into a dark corner of the hall. There's a spot of dark blue paint that has started to peel and flake downwards, exposing the pale wood underneath. He pretends its the most interesting thing he's seen all week. 

Shikamaru's not much for empathy. He knows sympathy; he knows exactly what to do for his teammates when they are hurting, and he knows how to ask what he can do for others he's not as close with, even if he really doesn't mean it or care. It's the polite thing to do. But ninja never cry. That's the first rule he learned and the one he remembers the most. There's always time to grieve, later, when the enemy is out of sight and mind, but shinobi don't cry. Never mind that he already broke that rule not so long ago--it was comforting, in thinking of it now. The war was over. They had won, supposedly, and shinobi don't cry.

(But for a moment, he thinks back to that night, sobbing his heart out to his father, the only one who knew he had broken that cardinal rule and had kept his secret, who had held him out next to the shogi board and had murmured 'it's okay', over and over until it really was, and that pit in his stomach re-positions itself in his throat. He chokes back the sting of his eyes. Focus on that damn paint peel.)

His mother sniffles one last time and pulls back, letting out a wet laugh and playfully wiping at his shirt with her sleeve. "Look at this. We haven't even gotten there yet, and I've already ruined your shirt. I'll wash it later, don't worry." She inhales sharply, settling into a hollow outline of her old demeanor, but she's trying and he knows she's trying for him. "Chouza came by this morning, while you were asleep. I didn't want to wake you. We'll all see him later anyways. There's breakfast there, but I can make you something now, if you're hungry?"

That prickling won't go away. Things almost seem normal, with her tone, if he could just forget everything that just happened. Pretend the war was a fever dream, and he's not clad so mournfully, and that his father is already waiting downstairs with a warm mug of coffee and breakfast on the table, and that later he'll go out with Ino and Chouji and train until the sun goes down. Why not reach back further? In the perfect world, Asuma-sensei is waiting for them too, with his fatherly smile and his ability to see through them all, and he'd ask if Shikamaru was doing okay and he'd smile and say he's fine, because here he'd really mean it. Hell, he'd reach for Ino's hand, too, intertwining their fingers and pulling her closer, close enough to press her lips against his own--

"Shikamaru?"

He blinks himself back to morbid reality. "Sorry. I'm not hungry right now, thanks."

Yoshino nods slowly, most of her concern washing away. "Well, then. Are you ready to go?" 

He nods, and watches for a moment as his mother starts to. 

Shikaku Nara had known he was in love with Ino. He had sighed when Shikamaru had forced himself to tell, and run a hand through his hand. He had told him that he won't tell him what's wrong and what's right in love, but that people have obligations, and unfortunately he's been born into one. That it'd be better to forget about it, but if there was ever a loophole, he'd let Shikamaru know.

His mother didn't know.

"Mom."

Yoshino stops, by the doorway, looking back over at him. "Yes?"

It's so easy, to just blurt it out, to take a weight off of his chest. But he's practically already the head of their clan. It would cause so many problems, for both him and his mother, and they're already under so much stress. The confession waits, positioned dangerously at the back of his throat, almost threatening his lips to release it. 

He swallows. "It's...nothing. Let's go."

Shikamaru is out the door before she can ask anything else.

* * *

When they arrive, his eyes immediately find Ino.

Even in a modest reception like this, she seems to glow, like the lazy halo around the sun on a particularly hot day. She stands next to Sakura, chatting aimlessly, gesturing wildly as if everything's okay, but he can see from where he's standing the slump in her shoulders and the hastily covered bags beneath her eyes. Sakura looks on in pity, feigning interest very poorly over worry. Her expression almost makes him laugh out loud, it's so twisted and changing. First pity, then a false reaction to something she says, then a quick amused smile before it's pity once more. He can tell Ino doesn't notice--if she does, she's too caught up in her own story to say anything about it. Despite her sadness, he recognizes the tightness in her jaw as a poorly concealed anger.

He weaves through the throngs of vaguely familiar shapes, ignoring forced pleasantries and condolences murmured his way, and comes up behind Ino.

"...And so I was like, you know, stuck in this really shitty position. Honestly, who does she think she is? She knows she's not the only one who, like, lost somebody, you know? What could I even say?" Ino whisper-yells, reaching out to a side table and grabbing her glass of water, taking an angry swig and continuing her tirade towards Sakura. "It's so stupid. You'd think you'd be able to grow up for like three goddamn seconds--"

He puts one hand on her shoulder and she jumps, whirling around, the anger in her big blue eyes melting into recognition. "Oh, Shikamaru," she sighs, the rage practically melting out of her as she throws her arms around him and buries her face in his chest. 

Shikamaru holds her, one arm wrapped around her and the other one coming up unconsciously to cradle the back of her head. He looks over her, at Sakura, and nods once.

"Hi, Shikamaru." She greets him warmly, pity pooling in her green eyes. She holds out her hand. He takes it automatically, releasing Ino's head, and shakes it once. "How are you holding up? You look like you haven't slept." She lifts her free hand, gesturing to her own face, drawing a horizontal line under her left eye and raising one pink eyebrow.

"Yeah, you look horrible," Ino mumbles into his chest, but she makes no move to pull away.

"Didn't sleep much last night," he says, looking down. Ino's face is mostly pressed into the fabric of his shirt, but one of her eyes is visible, and it's closed tightly, the turn of her lip that he can see quivering slightly. "Ino didn't either, huh?"

Ino just shakes her head. He looks to Sakura, tilting his own head towards his teammate slightly. Sure, she's sad, and it's easier to break down in front of him, but to completely change face in three seconds and turn into a shaking mess? It's not like her. It's almost like her anger and fire can't take hold in her, can't find enough kindling to light.

Sakura sighs deeply, and releases him, picking up her own water glass and looking deep into it as if scrutinizing it for poison. "After you all ate dinner, I spent the night at her place." The healer's voice is low, hushed, and she checks over her shoulder as if anyone nearby is listening. "Her mother is...is just pretending like nothing has happened. She's treating Ino pretty badly, because of it. Of course," she hurriedly ascertains, "she doesn't _mean_ to--"

"That's what you think," Ino interjects, bitterly.

"But it's still horrible to be around all the same. Everyone's grief is different." Sakura finishes, pushing a strand of pink hair out of her eyes and taking a sip. "Chouza-san came around about an hour before we left and helped kind of smooth things over, at least. That man is an _angel_ , honestly. He knows both of your families so well. Anyways, at least she's not hovering around Ino. She's fussing with the flower arrangements." The kunoichi tilts her head to the left, behind Shikamaru, and he spins gently, rotating himself and Ino until he can see the spectacle for himself.

True to word, the Yamanaka woman was buzzing around an enormous vase, two younger women he recognized as flower shop regulars floating around her as well. She was reorganizing the display, apparently to her liking, and pointed off to another vase, dictating something in a voice too far away to hear. Both girls darted over to the arrangement, picking out flowers and replacing them repeatedly, apparently trying to recreate what Ino's mother had just done. 

It was strange, how little the mother and daughter looked alike. With her dark brown hair and chestnut eyes, she was the only one out of place in the entire Yamanaka clan. All the various aunts, uncles and cousins had that tell-tale white blonde hair and blue eyes--even the ones who married into the clan at least looked like they belonged there. What she hadn't inherited from her mother in looks, though, she had inherited in personality. Not like he'd ever tell Ino that. That was a death sentence in and of itself.

"Right," he says, and finally pulls away from Ino, who settles on clinging to his arm. She looks like her younger self, crunched up tightly onto him like all those nights she was crying over Sasuke. And he had tried to ardently to not care, to not give a damn about a girl crying over boys he never wanted to be like in the slightest but desperately wished were like him so something in his analytical mind would click and he could fix it, fix her grief, but back in those days it was so temporary that the next week she'd be with another guy, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder at Shikamaru as they walked away together.

Yikes. He exhales sharply through his nose. He needs a new obsession. A girlfriend who's not Ino. Nothing like Ino. But who?

He watches Sakura cross the room. That's a possibility...maybe. The kunoichi joins her other two teammates and taps Naruto's shoulder, who's currently in an animated conversation with Chouji, pointing at himself and Ino. She's smart--they're on equal footing, intelligence wise, but she was so head over heels over Sasuke that it'd be impossible to sway her otherwise. So many years pining over a man who, until recently, wanted her as nothing more than a corpse...it's a small blessing that he has returned her feelings and not Ino's. Not like Ino still had feelings for him. Hopefully.

"When are they leaving?" He murmurs to Ino, testing the waters as Naruto waves, lopsided grin and all. He raises his hand in return. Sasuke merely glances at him once. Doesn't even look at Ino.

"Who, Sakura and _him_?" The disdain almost bring a smile to his face. "I don't know. Whenever she can get off work." Her disapproval rolls off of her in waves. "She's so in love with him it's disgusting."

"Jealous?" He teases, even if he doesn't really feel up to it.

"As if!" She reels back, glaring up at him. "If I wanted a boyfriend, I could _have_ one, you know. Besides, I don't want to date a psychopathic murderer. God, I still can't believe he has the audacity to _be_ here."

Ignoring the 'boyfriend' comment and the way it makes his stomach do a flip, this feels good. He's never really participated in her idle gossip--she's a good way to catch up on the happenings in the Leaf Village after he's been gone for a while, but today he's feeling a little more vicious. Having her tucked so securely into him gives him his own sort of fire. "Naruto invited him, huh?" He asks in a hushed tone, and feels her nod once, firmly. They're both staring unabashedly at the Uchiha trespasser, who's none-the-wiser to their combined glares. If he is, he has the decency to not make a scene of it, gaze locked firmly on Naruto.

"Forehead didn't." Ino replies, soft and conspiratorial. Her fingers curl absent-minded around his wrist and that makes his breath catch in his throat. "He didn't even know Dad," she continues angrily, reaching up with her free hand and flipping her bangs out of her eye. "Naruto is so forgiving. I'd have killed him by now, if it were me."

The touch is too much. He gently unwinds her from him, withdrawing his arm and letting it fall to his side uselessly. She looks up at him, a question on her face, but he pointedly looks away. Fortunately, Chouji was approaching them both, arms spread open wide, and he crosses the leftover space between them before he returns the embrace.

Chouji is warm. He didn't even realize he was shaking until he was hugged. They hold each other, silently, for a long moment, before Chouji offers Ino a hug of her own, which she warmly accepts.

Chouji looks over at Shikamaru, Ino now clinging on to him. "How are you holding up?" He asks, brow knitted in concern.

He just shakes his head. If Chouji asks again like that, he knows he's not going to be able to hold it together. That knot from earlier was still threatening to climb up into his throat and make room there. Waterworks were the last thing anyone wanted from him. There were people here who were looking to him to become his father. That's what was expected.

The bigger man's brow furrows even deeper, but he doesn't press. It's kind of unnerving how easily Chouji can see through him. He assumes Shikamaru's previous position, tucking Ino securely under his arm, and looking down, asking her the same question in a quieter voice. She says something back that he can't hear and Chouji nods, leaning down and planting a kiss on the top of her head. A hot stripe of jealousy shoots its way up his back, coloring his cheeks a strange and foreign red, which he hides quickly by turning away. What a stupid thing. It's  _Chouji._ Not one of the regular skirt-chasing guys following her. He can still feel Chouji's gaze burning into him and sighs dejectedly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. That's going to be a hard conversation to have later.

"The ceremony starts soon," Chouji continues, voice a little too bright and endearing for the darkness clouding the area, and reaches out for Shikamaru's hand. He lets him take it without a fight. "We'll be sitting up here, okay? All three of us. I know you want to sit with your families--well, Shikamaru might want to a little more than you, Ino--but you both look like a mess. No offense." The humor melts off of him then, and he looks at them both, all sweet and genuine, worry coloring his big brown eyes. 

Shikamaru looks down and away. It's probably for the best, anyways. Yoshino wouldn't mind. And if he was going to break down, he'd rather it be around his two best friends and not his mother. Chouji leads them to three folding chairs in the front of the room, right in front of two tables. On one is a picture of Inoichi--on the other, his father. Along with throngs and throngs of flowers, a cigarette pack is leaning up against his father's photo, along with a white lighter. It's so innocuous and yet it knocks the wind out of him. He staggers, almost falls into his chair onto Chouji's shoulder, and buries his head into his best friend's shoulder to stifle any stubborn sobs that threaten to escape.

The ceremony goes by in a daze. Some people stand up and say things about his father. Things they liked, things they appreciated, how they were so lucky to be here because of him...he barely listens. Part of him wants to sit up, be stoic,  _be the leader they're expecting,_ but right now all he can do is sit like an empty husk and stare at the floor. It feels like a funeral for himself, too. Here lies carefree Shikamaru Nara, alongside his father Shikaku. A mausoleum of a family. Put on dirt and join your clan. No one will worry about legacy wherever ninja go after they've died. 

There's a buzzing in his ears and it doesn't go away until Chouji nudges him, pulling him into a standing position. Everyone's dispersed, mingling around the room and speaking quietly again. Ino is gone.

"Where's Ino?" He asks, and his mouth feels dry, his tongue heavy on her name.

"Uh, she just stepped outside like a few minutes ago." Chouji raises an eyebrow. "Hey, Shikamaru, maybe you should give her some alone time? Things seem weird--"

"Yeah, thanks, man," Shikamaru responds absently, patting Chouji's shoulder before walking towards the exit.

* * *

He finds her a little ways behind the building. She's on a bridge over a little river, and she does not acknowledge him until he comes up next to her, joining her facing out and staring into the distance.

"It's just us now, huh?" Comes Ino's voice, soft and sotto. She's propped her chin up in her hands, back to him, gazing out across the waters. There's a chill in the air and he almost moves to cover her with his jacket, but that pit in his stomach stops him.

 _Duty,_ that voice in his head chides. _But why can't you just be a friend to her?_

So he comes up next to her, leaning out and looking down at the water. It's a peaceful day--the mid-morning sun is still rising, only a thin layer of clouds coating the sky and a slight breeze occasionally springing goosebumps and swaying the long reeds that tickle the edges of the river. The water is clear. It flows steadily on. He reaches up absent-minded to his breast pocket before realizing that he's not wearing his flak jacket. No cigarettes today, unless he wanted to go grave robbing real quick.

The two are silent for a long moment. It's a rare time that Ino's quiet. Her grief is private and closed-off; everything else about her is loud and rambunctious, giving Naruto a run for his money in the energy department. Sometimes she breaks down into him and finally, finally lets him know what's really on her mind, but those times are so few and far between that it's been years since her last explosion, her last collapse into him. In a terrible, selfish way, he misses it. It's the only time she really and entirely lets him into her cynical world view. No one else gets to see it. Not Sakura, not Chouji, not her mother or (now deceased) father.

"What, like here?" He asks, and she snorts, idly tapping her cheek with her index finger.

"I mean...well, kind of." Ino gives a half shrug, still looking out at the water. "Like, yes, right here in this moment, but...we're... **it**." She turns her head to look at him, blue eyes wide. "Do you know what I mean?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Just us." He repeats, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yes." 

Something clicks. "Ah. Like we're the heads of our clans?"

She nods once, returning her gaze outwards.

It's quite a step; one day shinobi, next day clan leaders. He'd been receiving halfhearted 'advice' from his father, updates from the Ino-Shika-Cho alliance and random thrown out sentences that Shikaku thought his son should know, but never had he truly trained for the position. Ino was probably the same. She had been daddy's little girl since the day she was born. He probably would have done anything to postpone her growing up. "Did he ever...say anything to you about it?" He asks anyways.

She merely shakes her head. "These are uncharted waters, Shika." She sighs, and he bites down, almost nipping tongue at the pet name. "It feels all wrong."

Of course it does. They're both de facto leaders now. Granted, there's not a lot to 'lead', per say, but it's still a responsibility neither thought they'd take until much later in life. He understands that. It's more obligations to Konoha, to the Hokage, to their families, and to themselves. He puts his own chin in his hand and looks upwards, towards the sky. It feels like a millennia ago that he'd gaze at that same sky, with none of the responsibilities he now shouldered, watching clouds dart by without a care. "It's a pain," he sighs.

She scoots closer to him. Her bare shoulder touches his clothed one and he can feel her body heat through his coat. "Sixteen generations of Ino-Shika-Cho," she says, voice seemingly teetering on the edge of tears, "and this is what we've come to. Just us. Just...me. Just you." In the heavy silence, she swallows, and the sound pulls him in a way it shouldn't.

 _Just me. Just you._ Something in the way she says it piques his interest. He looks over at her and she's pointedly looking the other way, long blonde ponytail fluttering in the breeze. His heart leaps into his throat and lodges itself firmly within his vocal chords and it takes a few swallows to get it back down into his chest where it belongs.  _Just me. Just you._ Okay; admittedly it's a stretch, but it sounds like the way he thinks of the two of them now--and that leaves open the possibility that Ino feels--

 _No. That's ridiculous. Here you are, acting like a kid again,_ he chides himself. That would be insane. Everything could be explained away so easy; Ino's always been pretty physical with him, propping herself onto him whenever he's in the vicinity, letting her long blonde hair tickle under his nose as she placed herself into his lap time and time again. Ever since they had become friends she had done that. Hell, she did it with Chouji from time to time. She opens herself up to him because he whittles away at her until she's nothing but her truth and her raw emotions. If anyone else did it, she'd probably fold and bend the way she does with him. That's no big deal, either. But she hasn't had a boy on her coattails for quite some time, and that's not for a lack of them trying. She was uncharacteristically turning them down left and right. _Maybe she's matured._ Yeah, right. She's still the same old Ino, grief and loss be damned. And earlier she had said 'I could have a boyfriend if I wanted one'. So she just didn't want one? Maybe she wanted one she couldn't have? 

_Or she's just really grown up._

So why is she looking away?

Shikamaru bumps her, leaning into her until she stumbles a little bit. "Sure," he admits, "that's all on my mind too. But something else is bothering you." His hand is shaking, a minute bit, and he withdraws it from his cheek, tucking it underneath his other arm.

Ino swats at him halfheartedly and regains her balance, readjusting herself to the same position next to him. "No." she says, a little too firmly. "I'm just...just _sad_ , Shikamaru."

"I am too," he tries, gentle and sotto, "but...you're acting weird. Weirder than normal, at least."

"Hey. I'm not the weird one here--" she starts, looking over at him with an easy, fake grin, but stops when he holds up his hand. This isn't the game he wants to play. Not now, when not knowing yanks at his core, long uncertain fingers combing themselves through the fibers of his being. She must see it on his face, because her smile dies down, and she looks at him with such a genuine concern that it almost knocks him off his feet. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Well..."I mean, no. I mean...as okay as you, probably." Shikamaru exhales through his teeth, letting the air rattle around the bones before releasing it. He puts his hand down and reassumes his original position, weight against the railing beneath him. It would do neither of them any good to fight now. "I just can see that something else is on your mind. I'm not blind, Ino."

Ino is silent. There's a static in the air, a low roiling that makes his breathing a little quicker. 

"Say it."

She sighs, and picks idly at the skin on the back of her hand. "I'm just...I don't know."

"You obviously do know," he snaps, a little harsher than intended, "or else you wouldn't be in a mood." All this beating around the bush is getting on his nerves. There's already such a weird tension between them. And sure, maybe he's the one that started it, but it's starting to boil and bubble to the point where he's actually getting anxious.

She pulls back from his side and stares at him, eyebrows raised and eyes steely. "A mood?? Well, _gee_ , Shikamaru," she sneers, voice icy and sarcastic, "I'm sorry that going to my dad's _funeral_ has made me such a downer to be around!"

"That's not what I mean and you know it," Shikamaru says back hotly. This is exactly what he wanted to avoid. "I just mean that something's on your mind."

Ino scoffs, loudly, gripping the bridge under her so tightly that her knuckles turn white and the wood makes a slight cracking noise. "Do I know it? **You're** the one in a mood. You've been in a mood ever since you got back from Suna. Like, I get it! We're both pissed! We're both...we're both going through shit, but something's definitely up with you. And--and it's not like you're ever going to tell me!"

He turns to face her wholly, and she does the same, gazing up at him from underneath narrowed blue eyes. "It's the truth! You don't ever tell me shit, Shikamaru! You just hold it in--"

"I'm not in a mood," he interjects, but she's not having it, already off on a loud tangent, gesturing wildly and jamming a finger into his chest.

"--right here, and never tell anyone anything, and then start being an asshole to me for no fucking reason at all!"

Great. She's already flying off the handle. He sighs and leans back again, crossing his arms over his chest and returning his gaze to out over the water.

"Oh!!! Oh, oh no, I'm being too troublesome for Mister Genius?!" She pushes him, then--not meant in real hostility, he knows that--and he catches himself backwards, staring at her in disbelief. She's a flurry of emotion; he can see her visible exhaustion but her eyes are wide, too, eyebrows down, pink lips twisted as she raises her voice even more and jams her finger into his chest again. "You started this, you know? You push me too far, Shikamaru!!! You--you always push, and push, 'cause you think there's some secret to everything, but I'm going through hell and you know that!"

Oof. He holds up his hands in a peace offering, his own outrage suddenly settling into a firm ball of guilt in his gut. "Look," he starts an apology, but she's not having it, taking a step closer and poking him again, hard.

"Whatever!! It's something you always do!" She lets out a mirthless laugh. "What, are you going to apologize now for something you've done without--without caring about the goddamn consequences for years? Fine, I'll fucking tell you what my real problem is--it's you."

"What? What the hell did I do?" Shikamaru takes a breath. This is the worst. A graveside brawl. 

Ino just stares at him, mouth half-open, brow furrowed.

"What did I _do_ , Ino?" He asks again, a little quieter. Maybe there's still some way to fix this. He reaches out to her, but she steps back a little.

"You've...you've been in your own mood! You've been like, glaring at me all yesterday, and last night, and today..." She crosses her arms over her chest, almost as if she's self-conscious, and all emotion and heat drain from him in such a flood that he feels like he might collapse. Fuck. She _noticed_. "You've just...it's like I...I don't know, Shikamaru!! You're _supposed_ to be my best friend and you just keep taking missions so far away for so long. I thought that maybe we'd grow, like, a little closer or something? You know, 'cause we get that loss!! 'Cause we've both _been_ there before. We both lost Asuma-sensei, and we both lost our dads..." Ino trails off and that ball of guilt grows within him, enveloping the base of his spine and travelling upwards. "I just thought that maybe we'd finally put all this behind us, but here we are again! Because you push way too much for someone who's barely around!"

"Fuck. Ino," he begins, reaching for her once more, fully ready to admit everything to her, because alliances be damned, he's hurting one of his best friends in the world but she steps back again, blue eyes far too accusatory. 

"It's like you're not even yourself." She grits her teeth and redirects her attention down to her feet, where she's grinding dust up under her toes anxiously. "Did I miss something? Or is there something you're not telling me?"

The cue couldn't be any more clear. She must know. That was it. The words are ready, _yes, Ino, I'm in love with you,_ but she doesn't stop talking. "Did something happen with you and Temari in Suna?"

That sets him off. A spark to gunfire. Anger, hot and white, balls in the pit of his stomach and shoots up his arms, heating up his face. She didn't know. And she thought...fuck. "No." He hisses, through gritted teeth, dropping his hands at his sides. It's such a stupid thing to be angry about but the fact that she genuinely thinks that that's something that would bother him pisses him off much more than he'd like it too. Everything is still so raw from everything that's happened. Why the fuck would he be losing his mind over a girl three days away?

 _Because you're losing your mind over a girl right in front of you,_ that voice reminds him, but he pushes it to the back of his mind, his rage and ire forefront.

It unfortunately piques her interest. She steps forwards, still wrapped up in herself. "Are you sure?" He can hear the anger still, but it's subsided into worry. Worry. God. Ino thinks that this is something they can _bond_ over, something they can actually have a discussion about. She can be so _stupid_. A faint buzzing starts rising in his ears and she speaks again. Her voice is so grating, sometimes. "'Cause that's the **only** thing I can think of that would bother you this much...I mean, aside from the obvious, you know? Like--"

"No, Ino," He snaps again, and he's aware of how loud his voice is now, almost yelling over her incessant babbling, "because I don't only focus on who I'm gonna fuck _next_. You know, like _you_ do."

As soon as the words leave his mouth his anger dissipates and he knows he's gone too far.

Ino freezes. Her eyes are wide, mouth in a perfect 'o', eyebrows raised, and she stays that way for about three and a half seconds before her eyes start filling with tears.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He reaches out a final time, quicker than before, trying to catch her, trying to fix this perfect mess he's made but she backs away, shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm, fists curled so tightly at her sides he's afraid she'll break her knuckles. She takes a deep, shaking breath, tears threatening again, before focusing out to the side, on something he can't see. 

"Ino." It's a ragged, half-desperate plead. "I'm sorry." It sounds pathetic coming out of him.

He expects her to say something--he can see every cruel thing she's thinking of ghost across her face, phantoms of lip-curls and equally as scathing remarks to cut him down to size, and honestly, he wants her to. It would bring back some semblance of normalcy. Just another argument they would have as kids. They'd be total assholes to each other until Chouji would play mediator and they'd be fine in a week. Another memory of an argument in the future that maybe she'd bring up to put him back in his place, and he'd hate her for it for half a second before realizing that yeah, he is being an asshole, and they'd laugh about it later over dinner.

But she doesn't say a thing. In fact, she _deflates_ , shoulders losing all tension and that  _terrifies_ him much more than any of her wrath ever could. "Ino," he whispers again, but she just shakes her head. Her eyes close tightly. A tear slips out and down the curve of her cheek, hanging on to her jaw for a half second before landing near-silent on the ground near her foot.

"After everything..." and her voice is ragged too, so low and in pain that a jolt goes through his heart and he'd much rather that pang be a kunai, just kill him, this is the worst way this ever could have gone, "after _everything_ , you still think of me...like that."

" **No!**   _No_ , no, I was just--I mean, I was just going to say that--well, I-I wanted to tell--"

This time she holds up her hand and he stops, mouth still half-open from whatever apology-slash-confession he was going to thoughtlessly burden her with. She doesn't open her eyes look at him. It's a long moment, with another cold gust passing through, before she slowly turns and just...walks away. He doesn't try and stop her this time, still reeling and rooted to his spot.

When Chouji comes out to find them he only finds Shikamaru, half-destroyed, stuck staring at the place she walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been gone a long time but im back. will try 2 update this on a bi-or-tri-weekly basis from now on. thanks for the kudos so far and your collective patience, and of course thank you for reading. 
> 
> shoutout to the comment that was like 'finish this you piece of shit' cause i needed that. love u
> 
> they're gonna fuck real soon i promise probably next chapter ! ! ! this is porn WITH plot baby we gotta sit through HEARTBREAK and EMOTIONAL ISSUES


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